Chapter 35: Creatures Like Old Men 2

Ming Ying opened his mouth, his expression a painful, euphoric mix. He strained to suppress his voice, managing not to give Thomas a heart attack the first second he picked up.

“Ming?” Thomas seemed to hear a strange sound on the other end.

“Uh.”

“Uh, P-P-Professor,”

Thomas frowned. “Ming, are you speaking Chinese? I can’t understand.”

After saying that, the sound from the other end stopped again.

Thomas even suspected his own phone was broken, so he frowned and tapped it on the corner of his desk. As it happened, the tapping actually produced a sound.

“Ha…”

Thomas frowned, picked the phone back up, and said, “Ming, the project I gave you last time needs to be submitted before this Friday. Can you do it?”

There was a strangely sticky, wet sound on the other end of the line. Thomas thought he was hearing things.

“Can, ugh…”

Thomas frowned. “Ming, are you having some kind of problem? Do you need my help?”

With a beep, the call was hung up.

Ming Ying was currently under assault from both ends—while on the phone just now, the old man had shoved his fingers into his mouth again. Both top and bottom were so engaged he couldn’t speak.

Yet this man did these things without his face even slightly flushing, even frowning slightly, his expression as serious as if he were in a meeting, researching some academic topic.

Ming Ying himself was teased half to death. Seeing him like this, he felt extremely annoyed. Unable to hold it in, tears spilling over, he opened his mouth and bit.

As soon as the call ended, Ming Ying’s world spun, and with a smack, he was pinned down on the sofa.

Ming Ying sucked in a cold breath, lifting his head. Something familiar suddenly swayed before his eyes—black, very long—Silas’s belt!

Like a nightmare come to life, Ming Ying was paralyzed with fear.

And so, in various postures, he lay on the sofa and cried for over two hours.

…

Silas carried the man, sobbing uncontrollably, from the sofa, stepping over the clothes on the floor, and carried him to the bathroom in the bedroom.

Ming Ying’s head was dazed; he couldn’t stand at all.

But his expression was still fierce, as if ready to snarl and bare his teeth at any moment.

Silas squeezed toothpaste for him from behind. Looking up and seeing the man’s expression in the mirror, he curved his lips slightly. “Ming, you really don’t have class tomorrow?”

Ming Ying leaned on the sink, his calf muscles trembling. He didn’t want to speak. He viciously took the toothpaste. “I have class. Tomorrow I’ll take a banner to school and hold it up, saying Aston has illicit relations with a male student—”

Before he could finish the sentence, his chin was seized again, and his saliva and tongue no longer belonged to him.

And so, Student Ming Ying cried for another hour or so in the bathroom.

…

In the end, Ming Ying didn’t even know how he fell asleep. He only knew he slept for a full ten hours. When he opened his eyes again, it was dusk of the next day.

After opening his eyes, Ming Ying lay in bed for another half hour, cursed a hundred times in his mind, sighed a thousand times, before barely managing to prop himself up on his arms.

No one was beside him. But judging by the pillow marks, someone had slept there. However, when Ming Ying reached out to touch, it was cold underneath.

Ming Ying pulled his hand back.

His butt was aching dully.

Thankfully, it wasn’t as painful as he’d imagined. Ming Ying frowned; that old pervert must have applied ointment for him.

Damn.

Ming Ying raised his hands to cover his face. This really was a single misstep leading to eternal regret.

He covered his face in bed for a long time, building up his mental state. But the moment he put his hands down and looked down, seeing the ligature marks on his wrists, he immediately started cursing in his mind again.

Scrubbing up while cursing, he got up. The clothes on him were also probably that old thing’s—too wide and long. He had to hold up the waistband of the pants to walk.

Like this, Ming Ying stepped into the slippers by the bed and shuffled out of the bedroom in a somewhat ungraceful posture.

The light in the living room was beautiful; the setting sun, passing through the lawn in the yard before spilling in, gave a radiant feeling.

Ming Ying, hand on his waist, was a little hungry.

But he still went to the sofa area first, looked around, and found his clothes, neatly folded, and his phone.

Ming Ying unlocked the screen, frowned, and stood there checking his messages.

Bruce, Alan, Mark had all sent him many messages.

All urging him about the project Thomas had told him about yesterday.

And one from Mark, asking why he hadn’t come back last night.

Also, his WeChat childhood friends group was asking why he’d been silent all day.

Damn. At this moment, Ming Ying suddenly remembered he was still a student who had actually gotten involved with a school board director.

Ming Ying sighed, put away his phone, hesitated for a long while, and poured himself a glass of water.

Who knew his hand would slip? With a crash, the glass hit the floor and shattered.

Ming Ying got a fright.

He hurriedly looked around. Luckily, Silas was nowhere to be found, hadn’t returned anyway.

So Ming Ying considered the situation briefly, cleaned up the broken glass shards, got up, changed his clothes and everything, and packed his bag with an uncharacteristic briskness.

—Having had this experience, subconsciously, he didn’t quite know how to face Silas anymore.

Student Ming Ying was ready to employ the best of 36 stratagems: escape.

He planned to run.

This was Student Ming Ying’s consistent style.

He called a car, intending to run away with all his worldly possessions. Unfortunately, after searching for a long time, Ming Ying couldn’t find his underwear. He had to give up and leave, going commando.

But as Ming Ying carried his bag and passed the kitchen, his steps paused. He suddenly saw a bowl of steaming noodles on the table.

Damn. At least he has some conscience.

So Ming Ying wolfed down the noodles in a few bites, standing up—don’t ask why he didn’t sit; the reason was simply that Student Ming Ying was born with a dislike for sitting on stools.

After eating the noodles, Ming Ying’s own conscience stirred slightly. He remembered the water glass he’d just broken, and this bowl of noodles…

So he blinked, pulled a few bills from his pocket—didn’t count exactly how many—anyway, plopped them on the table, and hurriedly fled.

The yard was bathed in perfect twilight, but Ming Ying had no mind to appreciate it anymore.

So, half an hour later, when Silas, just finished with a phone call, came out of the study, he searched for a long time but couldn’t find a trace of the kid.

He came downstairs, frowning, and saw the bowl licked completely clean, with three U.S. dollar bills pressed underneath it…

This scene was incredibly strange.

Especially after they had been intimately entangled the night before.

…

After getting into the car, Ming Ying called Thomas back. He shifted onto his side, trying hard to minimize the surface area his butt occupied, so his voice also lacked strength.

“Ming, when I called you last night, you sounded really off. Are you sure there’s no problem?”

Ming Ying laughed drily. “No problem. I had a bit of a fever last night, but I’m fine now.”

Thomas made an “Oh” sound. “The project is important, but your health is more important. Just a few days ago, Aston was asking me about you…”

Ming Ying cursed in his mind. Hearing that name, he wanted to find an excuse to hang up immediately.

But right as he was on the phone, his cell phone suddenly vibrated again.

Ming Ying frowned, pulled it in front of his eyes, and couldn’t help but suck in a cold breath—

Caller ID: XI